


a monster's heart (beats blood just the same)

by Anonymous_Wraith



Series: mcyt [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hybrid Technoblade, Hybrids, Monster Hunters, Monster Technoblade, Monsters, Pigs, Sleepy Cuddles, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Teenage Technoblade, no beta we die like mortals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Wraith/pseuds/Anonymous_Wraith
Summary: Just some casual depressed Techno-bonding in the woods.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: mcyt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175873
Comments: 297
Kudos: 1512





	1. Chapter 1

As he stands over his latest foes, Technoblade wipes his blade clean with the edge of his cloak, already soaked with blood. His dark red gaze flicks across the scene, searching for more threats. For now, all is silent and still. 

He sheathes his diamond sword and allows himself to relax, but only marginally. He can never let down his guard entirely. He is always being chased, hunted down to the very corners of the world. They want his tusks as trophies, his ears as good luck charms, his fur-hair as a scarf, his hooves as the heels of their boots, and his body on a stake as a warning for monsters.

He doesn't remember a time when he wasn't running, wasn't fighting for his life and for his freedom. He doesn't know what it feels like to have someone touch him kindly, or stare at him with something other than fear or hatred. 

But as they say: you can't miss what you never had.

He walks back to where he hid his belongings-- just a simple rucksack filled with pilfered potatoes, a foldable fishing rod, and his extra arrows, some tipped with poison. He shoulders the rucksack and adjusts his cloak, unhurried though he knows its only a matter of time before the next group finds him. He casts one last look around his home for the last six days, now a shallow pool of blood, and he wonders whether it would be better to just... let them kill him. Surely, his life is not more valuable than these dozens of others, who all have families to go home to and lives to live for. 

Like many other times before, Techno simply shakes his head and turns his back on the scene, stalking away with quiet steps and long strides. 

.

Not a day later, Techno is gnawing on freshly cooked fish by a lake when he hears the faintest of sounds, a small discord in the goings ons of the forest. He is instantly on his feet, sword drawn, but the sound comes no closer, and he soon grows curious as to what is making it. 

He creeps towards the sound, his hooves silent on the forest floor, until he makes it to a clearing. The sound solidifies into the soft strumming of a guitar and the hushed voice of a human male. Techno peers around a tree cautiously.

There is an adolescent human sitting crosslegged on the grass, a worn wooden guitar cradled in his lap. He wears a black toque and a brown trench coat, spread out behind him like a sparrow's wings. His eyes are closed, his head tilted back in gentle calmness as his fingers dance delicately across the strings, a slow melody weaving its way into the clouds. 

Techno listens, entranced. He has never heard such a tender sound, nor seen a human so docile. He has heard music before, of course, but it has always been war songs and taunting hymn-- nothing like this.

He leans heavily against the tree and sighs noiselessly through his nose. What an interesting sight. 

No sooner that he does so, the human's eyes open, and the music stops. Techno doesn't move an inch. He is hidden in shadows, but human's eyes are drawn to motion, and if he runs right now it will be obvious. 

The human sees him anyway. 

He gasps, clutching his guitar with his offhand and stumbling to his feet. He has no weapon, but he takes a defensive stance, lips pressed into a thin line.

Meanwhile, Techno straightens slowly, unconcerned. Seeing as the human has not attacked yet, it is unlikely to-- especially without a means of killing him. The only reason he would have to retreat was if the human yelled or fled for backup, in which case he would be long gone before they could arrive.

There is a beat where neither moves.

"Hello."

Techno's ear flicks back in confusion. Why would the human be talking to him?

The human clears his throat nervously. "I'm Wilbur."

He raises an eyebrow. 

"... and you are?" Wilbur prompts.

He considers this question carefully, wondering if this human was either a) insane, b) stalling him, or c) genuinely looking for an answer. The latter was the least likely of the three, but he treats it like it is the truth. "Technoblade."

He watches as Wilbur's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, the fear in their depths darkening. "Like, _the_ Technoblade? The Murderer of Men? The Blood God? The Blade? _That_ Technoblade?"

Techno shrugs. "That's what they call me."

The human is silent for a moment, his expression falling into something unreadable. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"No."

Wilbur startles at that. "Wait, you aren't?"

"You're not fighting me," he says with another shrug, turning to go. "I have no reason to kill you."

And with that, he leaves the strange (and possibly insane) human behind him.

.

After that, Techno --for whatever reason-- can't bring himself to leave the area just yet. He finds himself sitting in the trees next to the clearing, listening to the boy play his sweet, enrapturing music. Sometimes, Wilbur will notice he is there, but for the most part he seems oblivious. 

One day, Wilbur asks to thin air, "Any requests?"

No reply is given.

But from then onwards, Wilbur will always have a question to ask the air, like "how about this one?" or "should I play A or G for the second bar?" or "do you know what rhymes with blood-curling?"

Techno doesn't answer for half a week, unsure if these questions were, in fact, for him. But after a time, he begins making his replies. Normally they are short, clipped sentences that vaguely supply his opinion, but as he gets more comfortable with the music and with this strange, insane human, he starts providing longer, more insightful answers. 

Sitting in the safety of the trees, the sound of soft humming and slow strumming settling gently in his ears, he feels more relaxed than any time that he could remember. Once, he almost falls asleep to the calming tunes, but he catches himself before he can. No matter how docile this human seems, he is still human, and humans can not be trusted.

Techno has rarely stayed in one spot for so long, but, surprisingly, no one comes to bother him during this time. It's suspicious-- yet, he can't bring himself to care.

.

In the morning of the second week, it is not just Wilbur in the clearing.

A young man-- a little out of teenage-hood, by Techno's estimation-- sits next to Wilbur. He wears a green-and-white striped bucket hat over his straw blond hair, and a green-and-grey kimono around his thin shoulders. He is unassuming and pale, but he wears a stone sword strapped to his back, and even sitting down it is evident he can spring up at any moment.

Techno considers finally leaving, but his curiosity wins him over once more, and he climbs his usual tree.

"Technoblade," Wilbur calls out. (He still doesn't know how the human knows he's there, and it unnerves him to no end). "This is Phil. He's a friend of mine."

"A pleasure to meet you, Technoblade," Phil adds brightly, casually, without a hint of fear in either his eyes or his voice. And oh, Techno shivers. 

This man must be powerful if he is not afraid of a monster.

He settles more firmly in his tree, reassuring himself by touching the hilt of his diamond sword. Phil is just one human-- and a human without armour, at that. Techno would be able to incapacitate and run from him easily. There was no need to be afraid of someone who was not afraid of him, no matter how rare that is.

The rest of the day goes by, and Techno does not speak once. The music relaxes him, but the presence of two humans is more overwhelming than the presence of one, and the presence of an adult human brings back more foul memories than he'd care to admit. 

The next day, Phil comes again. And the next day, as well.

On the fifth day, Techno speaks, answering some question on the cadence of a song, and Wilbur smiles up at him with teeth so white that Techno knew that he'd never had to use them to kill. How gentle lives these humans must live, to be able to sing and talk with a monster, and yet smile with teeth as white as snow. 

On the first day of the next week, Wilbur asks, "Why don't you sit down here with us, Techno'?"

It's the abbreviation of his name that surprises him the most. Wasn't that a term of endearment for humans? It catches him so by surprise that it takes him a moment to register the question, and another moment to really understand what Wilbur was asking. 

He thinks about it, and doesn't respond.

On the second day of the third week since he met Wilbur, he sits down at the edge of the clearing.

Wilbur and Phil enter the clearing, and the former beams at Techno with such a radiant smile that it blinds him, and the latter's expression softens into something that he supposes is paternal. Techno is asked a lot more questions that day.

Over the next week, he inches closer and closer to the two, until he is but three feet away. They do not flinch back from him. In fact, they send him pleasant looks and kind smiles, kinder than he has ever received previously. What type of human are these, to not want to stab him on sight?

The day after, Phil asks him in a low voice, "Techno, where are your family?"

And he freezes. And he stares. And he narrows his eyes and hisses softly. And he closes his eyes completely. And he says, "What family?"

Because his family abandoned him as soon as they were able, they left him at three years old with nothing but a diamond sword and a few words. Those few words being ' _never stop running_ ' and ' _no one will ever accept you_.' He can barely remember their faces now, only those cruel words. 

He opens his eyes to see Phil furrowing his brow in sympathy and concern. "How long have you been alone?"

This time, Techno stands. "I'm always alone," he says, and he leaves.

In the morning, though, he returns, as he's made a habit of doing. Phil doesn't ask any more personal questions, but he looks like he wants to. The tension, as ever, is broken by Wilbur's music, and the day passes by without a hitch.

The next day, Techno falls asleep.

He doesn't need to sleep that often-- but with him constantly on edge, its hard to catch a wink. The relaxation and sleepiness that the music instills in him is hard to shake off, especially with him as close as he is to it. So, it's inevitable that this would happen. He just hopes that he judged these humans correctly.

.

When he wakes, he is curled on his side in the grass, Phil's kimono overcoat draped over him and Wilbur's trench coat folded under his head. It unsettles him to realize that they would have had to touch him to do this, but not nearly as much as it would have four weeks ago. He blinks his eyes open, unsurprised that they both are still there and talking quietly to one another. If he focusses, he would be able to hear their conversation, but he feels too drowsy and cozy to attempt it.

He watches through half-lidded eyes as they talk. They seem so comfortable with one another, in a way that Techno has never been with anyone. A way he imagines a family would be like. A _real_ family. One that loves each other and takes care of one another, despite any circumstance. That would be nice, Techno thinks. To be able to care for someone, and for someone to care for him.

Wilbur notices he is awake. "Hey, Techno'! We want to build a house here. Wanna help us out?"

Techno blinks slowly. A house. He's never stayed anywhere long enough to require a house, and he wonders what humans' attachment are to them. Trees are just as safe, and caves are nearly as sheltered. But, Techno doesn't mind helping his two strange, insane humans build one. It will be something to do with his hands that isn't killing or maiming. He wonders, briefly, if Wilbur would teach him to play guitar, if he asks. Or if Phil would let him hug him like he lets Wilbur hug him. 

A house, he thinks again. A meaningless thing, but, if they have a house, then... they don't have to leave.

"Sure," he murmurs, but he burrows himself deeper into their coats, breathing in their peaceful, fear-less scents, and lets sleep take him once more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight so this chap’ and the next are gonna be mostly fluff and settling down and getting comf’ with each other, and the next chap’ after that’s gonna have actual plot stuffs-- though not much ‘cause i’m horrible at plot lol
> 
> sorry for the wait; hope yall enjoy this chap

Techno’s main job, seeing as he’s never made a house before, is gathering the materials to make one. He cuts down trees with the iron axe Phil gave him, scrounges up some branches to thatch the roof, and searches the rivers for clay for the fireplace. It’s mindless work that requires no strategy or considerable effort, and Technoblade finds himself constantly high-strung, waiting for the moment when this seemingly calm atmosphere is broken. 

To make matters more confusing, the two humans keep asking him his opinions on things. Like-- this isn’t going to be _his_ house, why should _he_ like it? Besides, he doesn’t know what makes a good house. He’s only even been in abandoned ones-- and only when he was younger and didn’t know how to find shelter. So why would they be asking his opinion?

He’s knocked out of his thoughts as something lands, light as a feather, on his shoulder. 

He’s already turning and snarling with his blood-tinged teeth bared before he realizes it’s only Phil. He has to physically restrain himself from attacking the man, deliberately snapping his mouth shut and tearing his hand from the hilt of his sword. 

To Phil’s credit, he barely flinches, merely taking his hand from Techno’s shoulder in one slow movement. “Sorry about that,” he says casually.

Yet another thing that confuses Techno to no end-- there’s no need for Phil to apologize. Techno is the one who prepared his weapons against a companion: _he_ should be the one apologizing. 

“Me and Wilbur were wondering if you’d like to have dinner with us,” Phil continues, as if nothing happened. 

Techno stares at him, ears twitching, hooves scuffing the ground nervously. It still makes him anxious whenever Phil shows just how unafraid of him he is. No human nor animal has ever looked at him with such a relaxed gaze, or stood across from him with such an open stance. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

He startles. “No, I-- yes, I would like to.”

He follows Phil back to the clearing, where the foundations of the house are nearly finished. Wilbur sits next to an open flame surrounded by a ragged circle of rocks, cooking something that smells deliciously of deer meat and potatoes. 

Techno sniffs a little, delighted but unwilling to show it. Potatoes have always been his favourite food, and deer may be common but they’re also one of the more tender meats you can get in the forest. 

He settles himself a foot away from Wilbur, contently humming at the warmth of the fire. The autumn chill is starting to grow, and while Techno doesn’t mind the cold that much, he prefers to be warm. Warmth reminds him of better days and calm breaks in the constant flurry of activity in his life. Warmth is being able to sunbathe in a clearing, or being safe enough to start a fire, or having a fellow mammal cuddle him during the night. Warmth is good. Warmth is safe.

(Cold is chains and stone and the smell of iron and blood.)

Wilbur hands him warm food, which is not charred or unevenly cooked like whenever Techno takes the time to do so. It smells heavenly, and he lets himself just bask in it for a moment, curling his knees inwards a bit and relaxing his shoulders. In this moment, he doesn’t need to watch his back, he can just enjoy his food and the presence of two non-hostile entities.

“So, Techno,” Wilbur begins, gnawing on his own potato like it’s an apple. “We’re working on your room right now, but we were wondering if you wanted glass in your window or if you just wanted an open space…? You’re probably used to the fresh air and everything…”

Techno blinks slowly. _His_ room? This is going to be Phil’s and Wilbur’s house… so Techno shouldn’t be having a room in their house… why is Wilbur talking about him having a room? 

Wilbur keeps chattering on about a window, but Techno isn’t retaining any of it. They… they want him to live with them? Him, a dangerous animal and a monster, living under their roof? Why could they possibly want that? There must be some misunderstanding…

Either way, “No glass,” he says. 

An extra exit never hurt anyone.

.

Phil is making a chair.

What is the point in chairs? Techno has never understood it. Why sit in a chair when you can lean against something or crouch or even just… sit on the ground. 

Phil adds cushions to the chair, which is low to the ground and wide enough for two people to sit in it. 

Techno comes to investigate, poking the chair hesitantly, concerned when his finger sinks into the material. “Why,” he asks flatly.

“Why what?” Phil chirps back. Flopping into the chair, he falls at least a full inch into the cushions. 

Techno gestures at the monstrosity.

“It’s comfy,” Phil says.

Curious, Techno crouches next to it and presses his hand further into the cushion, watching it spring back into place when he takes his hand away. It reminds him of the fur beds he used to make when he was younger-- when he had yet to figure out that trees were the safest places to sleep. 

“You can sit next to me, if you’d like.” Phil scooches over. “Try it out for yourself.”

He stares at the man for a moment, head tilted, ears limp. 

He decides that he trusts the man. 

He perches next to him on the chair, facing him with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting against the backrest. The chair is, in fact, very comfortable, and Techno wonders if this is what baby birds feel like in their feathery nests. He carefully does not touch Phil, but he intends to stay in this little chair-nest for at least a while longer.

“So?” 

Phil is looking at him with an expectant smile and gentle eyes. Techno lets himself look into them a little longer, seeing the genuine pleasantness there and wondering what the other sees in him. 

He hums, eyes slitted drowsily. “It’s comfy,” he says.

.

They finish the house the day after, and its not a pretty thing, but its sturdy. Wilbur gives Techno a tour, through the kitchen that’s attached to the living room, through his room, through Phil’s…

“And this is your room,” Wilbur says, and he sweeps back the curtain.

The room is small, but not too small. There’s another curtain in front of the window, but it’s blue while the one on the door is grey. Nestled in the corner is a contraption similar to the chair, but Techno imagines it’s more of a mix between a couch and a bed. At the bottom of the chair-couch-bed there is a bookshelf, with three sets of loose garments neatly folded on one row. 

“Why,” he asks flatly-- it seems to be a growing theme. 

“Why not?” Wilbur replies with a winning smirk, and Techno doesn’t have anything to say to that. 

Of course, he thinks a lot of things about it, but nothing he would ever say out loud. Things like, _because I’m dangerous_ , or, _because I’ll hurt you_. Things that he will only ever say in his heart-- and things that will eventually cause him to leave, no matter how much he trusts these people. 

“Thank you.”

That’s what you’re supposed to say in these situations, right?

.

That night, Techno sleeps in his new room. Or, rather, he lies in the chair-couch-bed with his eyes closed, fidgeting. He can feel the absence of wind and leaves like an amputated limb, the bed underneath him too soft to be bark, the air too stagnant and stifling. The fact that he’s safe warrs with the unnatural environment, causing him to be stuck between relaxed and high-strung. 

He lies there for half the night, thinking and trying to sleep. He likes Phil and Wilbur, more than he’s ever liked anyone before. They’re not the first humans to be kind to him, but they are certainly the first to treat him like he matters-- like he’s more than just an animal. He doesn’t want to leave them.

Of course, it’s inevitable that he will. The hunters are still after him, and he doesn’t want them to hurt Phil and Wilbur just because he’s associated with them. 

At roughly midnight, he gets up from his chair-couch-bed, planning on actually sleeping rather than thinking these unwanted thoughts. Surely he can stay just a while more. Surely the hunters have forgotten about him by now. Surely he’s okay to settle down, have friends, relax for once in his life.

Surely.

He pads over to the window, drawing back the curtains. He is delighted when he sees a climbable tree directly outside, one that he can comfortably curl up in. Hopping over the windowsill, he scales the tree with practiced ease, nestling himself in its branches like an overgrown cat. 

With the slight wind chilling his face, he sleeps.

.

Phil isn’t surprised when he peeks into Techno’s bedroom and finds the hybrid absent. Techno is still getting used to them, and obviously has been hurt by humans before-- it’s no wonder that he doesn't want to be trapped. 

He _is_ surprised, however, when he sees Techno dangling precariously from a tree, eyes closed and expression listless. Does he normally sleep in trees?

He shakes his head with a smile. Either way, he’s glad that Techno is comfortable enough to sleep nearby, if not in the house itself. Maybe there’s something they could rig up in his room…

But for now, Phil draws the curtains back into place and leaves Techno to his rest. 

.

Wilbur is making lunch when it happens.

Techno has been gone all morning, which Wilbur is fine with. Let the guy have his space, you know? Phil’s back at the village, gathering supplies and telling their friends that they’ll be gone for a few weeks or a few months. “Off on an adventure,” is the official story. Of course, they’ll really be at this little forest home with Techno-- but that’s an adventure enough on its own, isn’t it?

Wilbur and Phil made an agreement that at least one of them will be in the house at all times, to be there when Techno decides to show his face. The hybrid still seems skittish indoors, but it’s getting better, and now he’ll stay for a full day inside the house if there’s enough to do. They want to encourage that domesticity. It’s obvious that Techno has rarely-- if ever-- been inside a house or had a safe place to stay. 

Wilbur is determined to make this a safe place to stay.

So, Wilbur is making lunch enough for two people, just in case Techno comes back in time from wherever he’s been. Potatoes are obviously the staple (they’ll probably have to grow their own potatoes, if they keep eating this much of them), with a side of chopped lettuce, celery, olives, and onions. It’s more variety than Wilbur would normally use, but Phil got a good deal with the villagers the previous day, so they’ll have a lot of different foods for the next couple of days. 

He turns away from his food to go nose to nose with Technoblade.

Who has a rabbit dangling in his mouth. 

Wilbur stamps down his instinct to jerk away, managing to subdue it to a mild wince. Forcing a smile, he asks, “What’s that, Techno?” 

The hybrid blinks slowly at him, grabs Wilbur’s hands, then drops the rabbit into them. “A rabbit,” he replies. Blood drips from his mouth onto his clothes, and little bits of fur are stuck to his tusks. 

Wilbur stays silent for a moment, wondering what the heck else he expected from a hybrid piglin in the woods.

“Good job, buddy,” Phil says from the doorway. Wilbur thanks his lucky stars that Phil came home so soon, because he has no idea what to do in this situation.

“Yeah, good job, Techno,” he affirms, his smile a bit more sincere. Over Techno’s shoulder, he mouths _What is happening_ at Phil. His friend’s gaze is amused as he glances over the dead animal in Wilbur’s hands, his eyes crinkling in suppressed laughter. 

The jerk doesn’t answer him, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe of the kitchen. 

Techno is oblivious, smiling a proud, bloody smile and trotting happily over to his room. They’ve given him so much: companionship, a place to stay, food to eat… it’s time he started doing things for them. Hunting is one thing that he’s good at, so that’s one thing he can do for them. 

He’s not sure what else he can do, but while he’s here he'll darn well do what he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so-- I’ve gotten into the whole ‘Captain Sparklez as Tubbo’s dad’ thing, and I have the distinct urge to write something about it (but separately from this fic), so I think that this fic will be relatively short because I don’t want to abandon it in the middle. I have an extremely short attention span not gonna lie. I’m thinking around three more chapters for this fic. If you look at my other fics, five chapters seems to be when I drop off lol. Yall deserve a conclusion for once. As for the upcoming Tubbo fic-- I’m thinking a modern cryptid sort of au, so if you’re into that then ill keep you posted
> 
> special thanks to fallingtoast for the not-quite-understanding-he’s-building-his-own-house idea, as well as the sleeping-in-a-tree-outside-his-window idea. another thanks to eatenpickelsticks for the bringing-them-dead-things idea (also, they write incredible mcyt fics, so check them out)
> 
> see yall in the comment section


	3. Chapter 3

It’s week two of living in their new house when Phil says, “Techno, we’ve got to do something about your hair.”

Techno brings a hand up to his dirt covered, tangled locks that reach past his elbows in uneven lengths. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s messed as hell, mate,” Phil tells him, rummaging through his bag and pulling out scissors, a comb, a mystery bottle, and an absurd amount of hair elastics. “You’re in need of a good haircut.”

He frowns around his tusks, scrunching his broad nose. “Nah.”

Phil acts like he didn’t hear him, sitting on the chair. “Sit.” He gestures to the empty space in front of him.

Techno grumbles a little, but he does as the man says. 

Phil gently tucks his hair away from his face, and the way his hands brush against Techno’s ears makes him lean into the touch. Techno hears Phil chuckle, then there’s a hand stroking his ear while the other massages the mystery liquid from the mystery bottle into the roots of his hair. 

It feels so nice. Techno doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him without the intention to hurt. Did his parents ever do so? No, he’s not sure if they ever did. All the kind touch he’s ever had is from animals like him. 

Brick, the horse who would lay next to him in that abandoned farmhouse during winter. Couldn’t swim for the life of him, that horse. Drowned a year after he found him. 

Floof, the wolf who taught him how to hunt rabbits and played with him in flowery fields. A mother hen to the very core. Died protecting him from a zombie.

Red, the rabbit that hid with him during a storm, then continued to follow him. She was joyful and bouncy. Until she passed from old age.

“Techno?” 

He sinks back into Phil’s knees, real and present and warm. “Keep going,” he mutters.

The hands return to softly untangling his hair with that mystery liquid. The slow, rhythmic pace serves to relax him further into the man’s legs, his head almost in his lap. His hair-- still caked with dirt-- spools nearly unsnarled around him, and a small pile of broken strands lay pooled next to him in a little pile. 

“Alright, Techno,” Phil murmurs. “We’ve gotta wash it now.”

He follows Phil to the washroom, where Phil directs his head into the basin they use to wash their hands. Phil takes a pitcher and fills it with water from the barrel next to it, pouring it over Techno’s hair. 

The water feels heavenly, so he closes his eyes and lets a hum enter his chest. It’s a half-growl half-purr, like something keeps getting caught in his chest and clunks and clatters against it. 

He hears the snipping of the scissors, and feels the light stroking of the comb through his hair. Every snip of the scissors sends shivers down his spine, yet he forces himself to stay still, holding on to the hum in his chest and the pleasantness of water against his scalp. Phil is trustworthy. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

There’s a _clink_ as the scissors are set down. “We can move back to the common room if you want, Techno.”

“A’ight.”

This time, he curls up with his back to Phil on the chair as the man picks up the hair elastics and starts separating his hair into sections. Half of his hair goes into a sloppy bun while the other half is steadily weaved into a loose french braid. The first half is shaken from the bun and braided as well. 

The house is quiet, Phil is warm against his back and stroking his ears (a sign that he is different, a freak, a monster) with the gentleness and care of a cat nuzzling its young. 

Is this what it feels like to be cared for, to be safe? Is this what it feels like to not worry about your existence in the world?

Is this what it feels like to have a family?

A faint, cinnamony smell reaches his nostrils. He feels Phil perk up behind him, so he rolls off the chair into a crouch, his hand straying to where his sword usually sits. When his hand clenches on nothing, he gets nervous. What if something dangerous comes through that door? Where’s Wilbur? Is he okay? Have the hunters finally found Techno after all this time? 

Phil steps in front of him. “It’s fine, Techno. It’s just Wilbur.”

“Wilbur doesn’t smell like that,” he says, confused, but he straightens up from his crouch anyways. He trusts Phil. Phil wouldn’t put them in danger.

Sure enough, when the door opens, Wilbur is on the other side. He’s holding a plate of… is that cookies? The only time Techno has ever had a cookie was when he was six, when a villager gave him a burnt batch. They were dry and the surface tasted of charcoal, but the inside tasted like he imagined heaven would.

His left ear flicked. Maybe Wilbur would let him have one?

“Cinnamon sugar cookies are here!” Wilbur brandishes the plate. “Bow before their brilliance and superb flavour!”

Phil laughs, lowering his head in a mocking bow with one arm tucked behind him and the other flourished. “Of course, your majesties. I hope you don’t mind being eaten.”

Techno looks at one, then the other, severely bewildered. 

Wilbur takes one of the cookies and waddles it around the plate. “My first decree as the cookie monarch is that the first sacrifice must go to the Blood God.” The cookie is held in front of Techno’s face. “Eat and be satisfied,” Wilbur dramatically proclaims.

He stares at the cookie, taking a brief sniff. Strange behaviour aside, it seems like Wilbur just wants him to eat the cookie. 

“You’re weird,” he decides, before he takes the cookie delicately with his teeth.

Mission accomplished, Wilbur leans to whisper into Phil’s ear. “The sacrifice has been accepted. Proceed to consumption.”

“Aye aye, mate,” Phil says jokingly, snatching a cookie for himself. “Consumption guaranteed.”

Techno is too busy nibbling on his cookie to be confused at them. It’s warm and soft in his hands, like a freshly killed carcass, but it crumbles in his mouth in much the same way dirt would. The flavour is really what takes his attention-- almost sickly sweet with a hint of spice that tickles his nostrils. It’s unlike anything he’s ever had before. The burnt cookies he had when he was six were bland and bitter compared to these ones. 

He licks the last of the crumbs off his fingers and turns to Wilbur, who is mowing on his own circular sugarcube. “Can you teach me how to make cookies?” he asks tentatively. He isn’t sure if Wilbur would want to take that kind of time for him. Letting him live in his house is one thing-- being in the same space as him long enough to teach him something is another.

“Of course,” Wilbur replies with a smile so warm Techno thinks he might melt. What’s so different about these humans, that they can smile at him so kindly while the others spit and jeer at him? What’s inside them that makes them so gentle and docile when the rest of their kind is not?

Techno stalks along next to Wilbur as they return to the still-burning campfire and hot-to-touch mobile oven. The ingredients and dirty dishes still lay neatly in a small pile. Wilbur must have presented them with the cookies as soon as they were done. 

“What kind of cookies do you want to make?” Wilbur asks him, stacking the dirty dishes and taking out clean ones from a bag. “We can make chocolate chip, sugar cookies, oatmeal, or ginger snaps.”

He considers his options for a moment very seriously, thinking about what he knows of each variation (spoiler alert: he knows very little). 

“Chocolate chip,” he says. 

.

Wilbur isn’t sure how they screwed up _chocolate chip cookies_ , but somehow they did. 

The chocolate chips are currently burning to a crisp in the fire, the baking soda is scattered on the ground, and a layer of flour covers every blade of grass and person in a fifteen feet radius. 

Techno sits, shocked, in the middle of it all, looking at his hands as if they might bite him. A blank expression is on his face. His posture is hunched, his ears drooping downwards. 

“I really do destroy everything I touch, don’t I?” he says quietly, gruffly.

Wilbur crouches down next to him. “Of course not!” He lays a careful hand on his arm, but Techno curls away from the touch, eyes locked on the white grass. “You’ve helped me with so many songs, and- and what about when you brought us materials for the house? Or how you keep giving us meat? Ahhh-- I’m not really made for giving encouragement.” He leans down so that he can intercept Techno’s gaze, hands hovering over him uncertainly. “Can I-- damn, can I just hug you, Techno?”

He stares into the other boy’s eyes warily for a moment, but nods his head. He’s never been hugged before. What kind of crazy person would want to hug a hostile mob?

Wilbur hugs him.

The hug is firm, but weak enough that if he wanted to pull away, he could. If he thought he felt safe before, now he feels _protected_ \-- like that safety isn’t just a product of his imagination, and that someone actually cares enough about him to watch his back. 

He slowly raises his hands to clutch at the back of Wilbur’s trench coat. The arms around him tighten even more, but, somehow, it doesn’t feel suffocating, nor like he is trapped. It’s… perfect, like this is where he was always meant to be.

Sinking into the hug even further, he smells _Wilbur_ beneath all that flour and faint burnt smell. _Wilbur_ smells of pine cones and lavender and woodsap. He smells of comfort and love and strength. He smells like _home_.

That’s when Techno knows that the hunters will have to kill him in order for him to leave this place.

He nuzzles his nose into Wilbur’s neck, that same purr rattling through his bones. 

“Can you teach me how to cook?” he asks with an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“Of course.”

They’re surrounded by flour and the remains of their baking, but neither care beyond the heartbeat of the other and the arms enclosing them in comfort. 

.

Techno is out again, stalking through the trees in search of fresh meat to bring to his family. 

He’s distracted, thinking about the events of the previous day. Do they think of him the same way he thinks of them? Or is this normal behaviour for humans? He has no idea-- he just hopes it’s the former. 

He spots movement out of the corner of his eye, but he’s not concerned. It could be a startled rabbit, or a prowling cougar. 

The one(1) time he’s not paranoid about hunters, and that’s what they are.

Something flashes at the edges of his vision, then pain erupts from his shoulder, an arrow sticking out of it. 

The next thing he knows, there’s shouting and he’s surrounded by four fully decked-out humans, each donning iron armour that gleams violently in the mid-afternoon light. 

“Don’t damage it!” one shouts. “Its pelt will buy us food for a year, minimum!”

“Careful,” another admonishes. 

A third chimes in. “It’s dangerous! We need to kill it quickly!”

He can barely feel the arrow in his shoulder through the rosy tinge of his gaze and the blood thumping in his skull. He uses his opposite hand to draw his sword-- but he’ll use his injured arm if need be. They didn’t hit any major arteries or nerves, it seems, and the arrow feels almost ready to fall out all on its own. The hunter who shot it must’ve not drawn back the bow enough. 

Amateurs. 

Techno may be disoriented, but he’s always fought better that way anyways. His diamond sword sinks into the first one’s neck with the ease of slicing warm butter, his hooves already shifting to turn to the next hunter. His teeth are bared. 

The second dodges the initial swing of his sword, but fails to jump out of the way of the next. He dies with diamond lodged in his side. 

It takes Techno a moment to recover his sword, so he has to duck out of the way of the fourth hunter’s axe, then deflect the third’s sword with his own. 

Instead of disengaging his sword, he lunges forward to punch the hunter in the jaw with his entire momentum behind it. His inattention to the fourth hunter costs him a layer of skin off his leg, but rewards him the third hunter’s snapped neck.

The fourth hunter backs away from him, eyes wide with fear and anger both. 

He drops his axe.

Techno instantly stops advancing, and snarls at the cowardly man. What a sight he must be, covered in blood and baring his teeth like the monster they think he is. Well, he’s going to let the man go. He doesn’t think Phil would approve of him killing someone who’s unarmed.

“You deserve to die, _pig,_ ” the man spits, then bolts into the forest, leaving his axe behind. 

Techno stands in the trees until he starts to feel the chill of evening creep upon him. He isn’t really thinking of anything much, just closing his eyes and letting the blood dry on his clothes. He can’t go back to the house like this; he’s got to clean himself, he’s got to wash his sword, and, and-- 

But he can’t bring himself to move just yet. 

It’s the next morning when he comes to himself, his body stiff and cold. He’s sitting, now, (though he can't remember himself doing so), and his braids are a crumbled mess in his clenched hands. 

He thought the hunters had finally given up. 

He was wrong.

Breathing in slowly, he gets to his feet and dislodges his fingers from his hair. He walks to a nearby stream almost mechanically, washing himself with his mind at the distance of a hundred yards in the sky. He sheathes his sword.

He would never be able to stop running, would he? It’s only fair: pigs have natural predators, so why shouldn’t he? Being hunted is where he is meant to be-- what other place would he have in this world? 

As he treks back to the house, he once again begins to wonder whether it would be better for him to leave this place. Phil and Wilbur don’t deserve to deal with his problems. He’s a problem that they don’t need in the slightest. They have their own lives to live, and their own families to return to. 

Why would they ever need _him_?

Instead of entering through the front door, he steps carefully through his bedroom window. He has an extra pair of clothes on the bookshelf that he can change into before Phil and Wilbur see him. It’s better not to waste their worry with trivial things like mild injuries. 

He wraps his shoulder and leg in cloth before he changes into a fresh set of clothes. They were fairly shallow wounds, so they didn’t bleed through the cloth, thankfully. 

Thus ready, he walks out of his room in search of his humans. If Wilbur is home, he’ll ask him to teach him ‘butter chicken,’ and if Phil is home then maaayyyybe they could snuggle, or spar in the clearing?

Both Phil _and_ Wilbur are in the common room.

Techno isn’t limping or favouring his shoulder or any such thing, but Phil’s gaze instantly narrows in on the two spots, and Wilbur seems to notice not two seconds after. 

“Techno,” Phil says in a low voice. “Are you okay?”

He opens his mouth to say yes, yes he is okay, but the look in Phil’s eyes stops him. There is no room for lies. “I may or may not be sliiiiiightly injured, Phil. Very slightly. Don’t have to worry about me, Phil.”

Phil doesn’t seem convinced.

“I’m just going to…” He inches towards the door. “Get a rabbit for dinner or something. I’ll be riiight back.”

“Techno.” 

There’s a note of warning in Phil’s tone, so Techno halts his retreat. Is he angry at him?

“Wilbur, get the healing supplies,” Phil says, then he turns to Techno. “We’re going to look at your injuries. And--” Their eyes lock. “You’re going to tell us how you got them. Understood?”

“That’s not necessary--”

He cuts him off. “No, but that’s what friends do, Techno. That’s what _family_ does. And while you might not think of us as family quite yet, I know that me and Wilbur do.”

Techno doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just let’s Phil sit him down in the chair and hitch up his pant leg and unwrap his makeshift bandages. “I’ve lived with worse,” he mumbles when Phil gasps through his teeth upon looking at the wound.

“Doesn’t matter,” Phil replies grimly. 

Wilbur comes back with a bag of supplies, oddly quiet. They dress Techno’s wounds in silence, and with a care that really shouldn’t surprise him at this point. 

Once they finish, Phil joins him on the chair, tucking Techno close to his chest and putting his chin on the top of his head. Wilbur perches on the armrest and claims the other side of Techno, nestling close with his arms around them both. 

“What happened, Techno?” Wilbur asks.

He tells them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> techno: tis only a flesh wound
> 
> okey dokey, so, this chapter ran away from me a bit and became slightly more angsty than I intended, but I think I balanced it well with fluff? maybe? 
> 
> don’t worry-- the original hunters are coming; they’ll be the finale
> 
> i was planning on having tommy in this chapter at the end but like, i think this was the best way i could end this chapter. for those who worried that tommy would take over this story-- dont worry, i will make sure he is safely in the side character category :)
> 
> thanks for all the support, i really appreciate it. i hope you all have an amazing Christmas! i’m not sure if i’ll update again before then <3
> 
> special thanks to JamShix for the suggestion. i especially loved the line ‘being attacked is normal, being loved and cared for is not’-- i also got the cooking idea from Fallingtoast, even if it wasn’t specifically baking and cookies
> 
> art i made of the bois, if you want it: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1IPmttKNeeHlvf9ZPpqH4kkrtWpzm43hE/view?usp=sharing  
> im sorry that phil doesn’t look like himself lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A wild Tommy has appeared!_

Wilbur and Phil take the news that Techno is being hunted to the ends of the Earth a little harder than he expected. Phil keeps him on that chair-nest for what feels like a week, but is, in actuality, only a few hours-- trapping him with his arms wrapped around him. Wilbur stress bakes a cake. They both tell him endlessly that they don’t care that he’s a hybrid, and that they’ll do anything to protect him, and that he should never-- in _any_ circumstance-- hide an injury from them ever again. 

It’s getting stifling, with them breathing down his neck and asking if he’s alright and getting him things and stopping him from leaving the house alone and following him wherever he goes and--

On the third day since he told them about the hunters, he snaps. 

“Leave me alone!” he growls at Wilbur when he tries to follow him into the woods. “I’ve been dealing with them for this long; I don’t need you to protect me! Stop hovering over my shoulder like a territorial vex!”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe, Techno,” Wilbur placates. “You’re not alone anymore; you don’t need to deal with this on your own. Let us _help_ you.”

“What if I don’t want your help? Ever think of that?”

He blanches. “Techno--”

“Just-- please, Wilbur.” Techno turns away. “I mean it. Stop following me.”

When he walks towards the forest once more, he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him.

.

Of course, the first outing he goes on without Wilbur or Phil breathing down his neck is when he finds _a human child dying in the woods._

A few months ago, he would have ignored him and pretended like he never saw him in the first place-- but after encountering humans that are kind and actually _humane,_ he somehow feels obligated to help the small thing. 

He’s laying limp against a tree, a nasty gash causing blood to run in rivulets down his face, while his arm rests twisted by its side. His clothes are in tatters, and they seem to be made of low-grade material-- not that Technoblade knows much about that. The child’s eyes are closed and his breathing is rather ragged, but not enough to cause him to worry. One session with Phil’s miraculous first aid and the kid would be fine.

When he leans down to pick the kid up, however, his eyes snap open and he scrambles back with the speed and clumsiness of a newborn deer. He yelps in pain and surprise, eyes blown wide with a kaleidoscope of emotions that Techno could never possibly hope to untangle. “St-stay the fu--” He cuts off with a gasp as he tries to use his injured arm, then devolves into a muttered flurry of curses. 

Technoblade stands over him and waits for him to calm down. 

“What the-- what the frick do you want?” he yells. _(A/N: I can’t swear for the life of me, so just pretend all the replacement swears are actual swears lol)_

Techno shrugs and ignores the question. “I have a… friend that can patch you up, if you want. If not, that’s not my problem.”

“W-w-why would you want to ‘patch me up’? L-like-- what the frick man,” he splutters. The stutter doesn’t seem to be out of fear, but out of incredulity and unable to articulate his thoughts. 

He shrugs again. “Don’t care that much, honestly. You seem annoying.”

“I’ll have you know,” the child said angrily. “That I am _not_ annoying. I am a strong, handsome maaaaa--aan.” He hisses through his teeth at the last part, obviously in pain but unwilling to show weakness.

Despite everything, Techno can respect that.

He snorts. “You’re not a man-- you’re a child.” He doesn’t know too much about humans, he’ll admit, but he _does_ know that small baby-cheeked boys are _not_ considered adults, even in this screwed up society. 

The child stammers out protests, but Techno isn’t listening. The kid is visibly getting fainter as they speak, and while Techno doesn’t care too much about his well-being, he knows that Phil and Wilbur would. It’s about time he got the boy to their house, re-set his arm, and slowed the bleeding from his head wound. 

Technoblade tosses the child over his shoulder and-- pointedly not reacting to the feet pounding into his stomach-- jogs smoothly back to the clearing, trying not to jostle him too much in his grip. The possible concussion might be slightly worse, but the faster they get back the less likely the child is to die. 

Which would not be an ideal situation.

Techno enters the house with his ears near-deafened from the child’s incessant screaming, his stomach one huge bruise, and his shoulder on one side almost dislocated from constant abuse. This was for the kid’s good, so why did he have to be so difficult?

“Phil!” he calls. “You home?”

Within moments, both Phil and Wilbur are in the common room.

“Congratulations, Phil, you’re a father,” Techno deadpans, heaving the weakling child onto the chair-couch and gesturing at him in a way that says ‘cease my suffering.’

The kid tries to leap to his feet, but can’t make it more than two inches away from the cushions before falling back into them. He sputters and stutters and finally manages to choke out: “Wh-d-d-da-- Did-- did you just fluffing kidnap me?!”

“Techno…” Phil starts.

“He’s injured,” he explains. “Found him dying in the forest. Call me when he’s gone.” 

.

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t leave.

Apparently, the kid’s name is Tommy, and he ‘fell out of a tree.’ He doesn’t have any family, he doesn’t have any friends, but he doesn’t care about that though cause he’s a ‘strong man that don’t-- do-- doesn’t need anybody.’ Phil tries explaining that men that accept help are actually the strongest, but --since that is absolutely ridiculous-- Tommy brushes past that and fights them every step of the way. Thankfully, he falls asleep before it becomes a _real_ problem, but this just concretes Techno’s opinion that he’s an annoying little demon child.

Phil says that Tommy can’t leave until he’s at least able to walk, but it looks like the kid won’t be leaving anytime soon anyway. He chatters like a broken record that can’t turn off, and seems to be getting attached to the two other humans. When Wilbur sings, he joins in with the voice of a dying cow. He eats everything in sight. He tries talking with Techno, but it always devolves into either shouting (one-sided) and/or insults. 

Techno doesn’t think Tommy likes him very much, but that’s fine with him. If Phil and Wilbur like the boy, then he’ll just have to deal with it. He’s been hated before. 

This is fine. 

“You’re not being replaced, Techno,” Wilbur tells him one night as Phil is re-dressing Tommy’s wounds. “We just want you to know that. You’re our family now: there’s no squiggling out of this one.”

He looks into those sincere, chocolatey eyes with his own murky black ones. There are no lies there, only reassurance. 

He huffs. “How unfortunate,” he says sarcastically. “I was planning on leaving tomorrow, but now… well, there really is no point, is there?”

“We’ll find you,” Wilbur replies seriously. “And smother you with our love.”

Techno gags. “Ew. Affection. Gross.”

“Did you just call my love gross?” he gasps. “You’re in for it now, Technoblade.”

He tries to escape, but Wilbur has awfully long arms. 

.

“Big T!”

Techno turns around from where he is chopping wood, then jerks back from the gleaming smile that appears directly in front of his face. Doesn’t Tommy know the meaning of ‘personal space’?!

“What?” he asks gruffly.

Tommy bounces, the arm that’s strapped to his chest somehow bouncing out of sync. “You like potatoes, right? Let’s plant some! And while we’re at it, we can plant a rabbit’s foot and see what it does!” The latter part is purred with particular intensity, as if it’s even more important than the former.

“Tommy--”

“Yeeaaaah yeaaaah! Let’s plant a rabbit’s foot!” he repeats, then he grabs Techno’s arm with his free hand, unbothered by the axe swinging at the piglin hybrid’s side. “C’mon, big man! I know you don’t like me, but it’ll be fun!”

Techno lets himself be dragged along, a furrow forming in his brow. “Well, that’s wrong.”

“What? Of course it will be fun!” Tommy says, misunderstanding. 

Techno doesn’t elaborate, but it continues to bug him. He doesn’t have any particular problem with Tommy-- even if he is an annoying little demon child. He’s actually quite interesting to be around, and his antics brighten the atmosphere considerably. If anything, it's _Tommy_ who dislikes _him_ , because he gets nervous around him and constantly tries to antagonize him. 

As Techno helps Tommy build their little garden, he thinks. He knows he’s standoffish and more wild animal than man, so surely Tommy doesn’t like engaging with him or being around him in any way, shape, or form-- but he invited him to farm with him, and he talks to him in much the same way he talks to the others. Has he been trying to gain Techno’s approval this entire time? Is _Techno_ the reason why they aren’t interacting?

“I don’t dislike you,” Techno mutters in the middle of one of Tommy’s tangents. The kid freezes, mouth open, and stares. 

“You don’t?”

“No,” he confirms. “So… ugh. I wouldn’t mind... us hanging out. More often.” Social interactions are not his forte. 

Tommy stares in shock for a moment.

“FLUFFING _YES_!” He pumps his free hand into the air and winces as he tries to do the same with his injured one. This does not deter him, however, from getting up in Techno’s face and punching his shoulder excitedly. “CMON, BIG MAN~! LET’S PLANT THESE FLUFFING POTATOES!” He whoops and does just that, except now with the vigor of a boy who got a new toy for Christmas.

Techno rubs his shoulder absentmindedly as he returns to his work. 

That might’ve been a mistake.

.

Deep in the forest, a man runs, his hand grasping on the phantom grip of his lost axe. 

He is angry, and disgusted, and all-together too terrified for his liking. He knew who his target was when he took the job, of course-- but he hadn’t thought that the supposed ‘Blood God’ would be as terrible as they say. It killed his fellow hunters without hesitation or remorse, going for the throat like a wild dog. It really did deserve to die.

He would get reinforcements, he would get supplies…

And he would get that pig’s head on a pike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> has anyone read ‘said i couldn't love someone ('cause i might break)’ by far2late? well, you should. it hurts like hell but like, its a fantastically written sort of hell so there’s that.
> 
> this is the second to last chapter; thank y’all for staying this long. my next fic is going to be a tubbo & sparkley oneshot so if y’all are interested in that, then ill put the url in the end notes of the next chap (im planning on posting the tubbo fic before i finish this one). i might end up doing a tecnoblode oneshot, too, but we’ll see about that.
> 
> special thanks to Maia_is_here for the farming potatoes idea, and special thanks to JamShix once again, for the tommy-thinks-techno-hates-him idea
> 
> happy new years eve, and see y’all in the comment section <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be clear: the hunters are all OCs because i don’t want to make anyone from the smp the antagonists-- also, i didn’t really have anyone planned so if i tried to insert them now then they’d seem ooc and i don’t want that lol

It starts with the snap of a twig. An insignificant thing, really-- something that could easily be dismissed as a wild animal, or a stray villager out on a stroll. 

Next, is the sharp smell of metal and the elongated _ring_ as swords are drawn. They are still far enough from their destination, however, that even their prey’s keen ears can’t hear it.

They are closer now, able to see the smoke curling from their prey’s chimney. They pause at the sight (because they know that monsters aren’t civil enough to build houses), but they shake the thought off and continue forwards, more careful now of branches and fallen leaves. Surprise is their ally. 

The third sign --the first noticeable one to their prey-- is the jangle of a hunter’s armour when she stumbles, quickly reprimanded by the commander’s harsh whisper. Luckily for them, their prey drops a metal bowl in the same moment, masking the sound.

They enter the clearing.

Phil and Techno’s heads snap up instantly from what they’ve been doing, each reaching for their swords and dragging Tommy and Wilbur along with them. The latter two seem to realize the grimness of the former two’s movements, and go along without complaint, keeping silent as they block out the windows, lock all the doors, and make barricades out of their tables and desks.

The hunters knock. 

The prey strike.

In perfect, practiced unison, Phil opens the door while Techno slices the first hunter down. Wilbur hits the next who comes through the door with a well-placed sweep of his shield, and the one who comes after is knocked out by Tommy’s slab of wood. Techno has only a moment to think ‘ _Someone needs to get that boy a weapon_ ’ before he’s stabbing another hunter who dared to step past the threshold. 

“TAKE THAT, IDIOTS! YOU DARE TO ATTACK THE MIGHTY BLADE!” Tommy shouts heartily, filling the serious situation with mindless blather. 

Technoblade chuckles as he withdraws his sword from the chest of the hunter. Annoying demon child. 

No more hunters come through the front door, so he follows Phil outside to greet the row of hunters surrounding their home. 

A man clad in an anonymous iron armour steps forwards from their midst, hand resting loosely on the shiny new axe hanging from his belt. “Indeed, we dare,” he says dryly, angrily. His voice carries across the empty air like smoke on the wind, gravely and dark as coal. “That monster you have with you has been alluding us and others before us for many years, barely escaping by the skin of its teeth. This time, it won’t. If you hand it over to us quietly, we will leave the rest of you unharmed and ignore the fact that you’ve killed our companions-- but, if you protect it, then we hold no responsibility for any… casualties that may occur.”

Tommy splutters and tries to push himself to the front, but Phil raises an arm to bar him, shushing him with a brief flick of his wrist. “I think there may be a misunderstanding here, gentleman,” he states casually, with a hint of danger in his tone. “We do not know who you are, or what you are searching for, for that matter. There are no monsters here.”

The man hums with a sharp grimace. “I am Drake Folious, a hunter from the Hypixel Isles. If there has been a misunderstanding, then it has been on your part, not ours. The monster in your possession goes by the name ‘Technoblade,’ otherwise known as the ‘Blood God’ or the ‘Blade.’ It has killed far too many good men already, including three of whom I once called friends-- so I require it dead, as soon as possible. No dallying, if you please.”

“I repeat,” Phil says slowly. “There are no monsters here. Get on your way, else we make you.”

Folious laughs. “Make us?” He gestures to the army of hunters, all armed to the teeth. “You are outnumbered ten to one. You will lose this fight.”

Tommy barges in at this point, stuttering a mile a minute. “Wh-duh-bl-ehr-- why do you even want the Blade? Big T is only making trouble for you because you’re chasing after him! Leave him alone, and he’ll-- he’ll leave you alone. So-- get out of here, you- you _perras_.” 

(a/n: ‘perras’ means ‘female dogs’ in spanish… i’m sorry that i’m ruining your immersion by not swearing but i literally cannot swear lol)

“It is a blight on this world!” Folious shouts, point emphatically at Techno. “It has killed dozens of good men-- mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. You do not understand: it cannot live to terrorize even more innocents than it already has!” 

Techno lifts his chin and squares his shoulders. What the man said is true, but that is the price of survival. Maybe he does not deserve to live --maybe he deserves it less than those he kills-- but here’s the difference: they ran towards their deaths, and he only did what he had to to prevent death. He has regrets, of course, but he refuses to apologize for surviving the obstacles life gave him.

He looks back at his friends. His family.

Do they deserve to die for his sake? He knows that he can escape this, but can they? Can he protect them? Most importantly:

Is it even his choice?

Either way, he isn’t about to let those he cares about die.

“You’ve got me,” Techno declares, tossing his sword into the snow and raising his hoof-tipped hands. “Leave these three alone, and I’ll let you kill me.”

“Techno--”

He doesn’t care which one of the three says it; he interrupts them. “I HAVE MANIPULATED YOU FROM THE START!” he growls. “I _used you_ to hide away like a cowering pig. I endangered your home, exploited your kindness, and ate your cupboards dry!” He smiles cruelly, playing into the act with every ounce of his confidence-- he cannot afford to let them see through him. He needs them to believe this. “Humans are even more gullible than I thought. I used you, and --even after you gave _everything_ you have to me-- you don’t see it. How pathetic.”

Phil steps towards him, but he steps back with a snarl.

“Live your lives,” Techno hisses, and he dashes towards enemy lines, hating Folious’ smug smirk more than anything, but letting him have the victory. His family is more important than his life or his pride.

Before he can make it two steps, he is tackled from behind and pinned to the ground. A familiar soothing voice whispers in his ear, “Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for us.”

“Wilbur--” Techno begins.

“Don’t,” Wilbur warns.

Two shadows fall over them both as Tommy and Phil step in front of them, Phil wielding his sword and Tommy wielding Techno’s discarded one. _At least he has a weapon now_ , Techno thinks with an internal chuckle, despite the situation. 

He just wants them to be safe.

“Let me up, Wil,” he pleads gruffly, shifting slightly. “I concede; let me fight with you.”

“Promise not to sacrifice yourself the moment you get the chance.”

He curls his hands into fists. “I’m feeling a biiiiiiit peer-pressured here, but-- I promise.”

It is, of course, at that moment that all hell breaks loose.

Techno does not have a sword to fight with, but who needs a sword when you have hoof-like nails and hooves and teeth? 

He doesn’t even notice Wilbur get off of him, only notices the blur as he stands and the enemy charges. 

The battle is red-tinged and a flurry of movement and blood and broken bones. He kills and he roars and he laughs and he has never felt more _alive_ than when he’s fighting alongside Phil and Wil and Tommy. The latter is losing his breath to yelling and blabbering, but it catches the hunters off guard. Then there’s Wilbur, who may not be able to tell the difference between the point of a sword and the handle, but he wields a plank of wood with the accuracy and deadliness of a grizzly bear. And Phil. Oh, Phil. Techno was right to be afraid of him the first time they’d met. 

Phil moves his sword so swiftly it makes everything around it seem like time is slowed in comparison. It hits its target only where he wants it to, and nowhere else. Phil himself seems unhurried, almost casual, slitting throats as if it’s just another day at the farm.

(Of course, Technoblade’s better-- but it’s a near thing.)

Finally, Folious decides to join the fight, after watching over a dozen of his comrades being slaughtered like sheep. It seems to be a habit of his, considering what happened last time. 

He approaches the preoccupied Technoblade. 

Techno’s blade is preoccupied lobbing off limbs and slitting throats. Every swing of his (stolen off a dead body) sword is the death of another, every step of his hooves a step forwards to freedom. Surely, after this, they’d leave him alone. 

He hears the snap of a twig behind him, and he whirls around to face his new opponent with his sword up to block.

Only to see Wilbur with a bloody plank of wood standing menacingly over Folious’s body. He locks eyes with Technoblade, oddly frightening for such a soft music boi. “We can’t effing replace you, Techno. You have to be more careful.”

“Nahhhhh,” he responds with a shit-eating grin, casually stabbing a hunter trying to sneak up on him. “What would be the fun in that?”

The stink-eye Techno receives is rather terrifying.

(He thinks he likes this side of Wilbur.)

The battle around them is near-dead, and the last few hunters that remain run for their goshdarn lives. For once, as Techno looks around at the carnage, he doesn’t feel like a monster, or like he’s alone. For once, he feels protected, and like nothing can touch him. For once, he feels…

Free. 

“So,” Phil says as he wrapped an arm around Techno’s and Tommy’s shoulders. “What do you all want for dinner?”

“RABBIT’S FOOT!” Tommy yells instantly, pumping his fist into the air. “RABB-IT’S FOOT! RABB-IT’S FOOT!”

“ _What_ is your obsession with rabbit’s feet?” asks Wilbur, but he’s smiling fondly. He ruffles the kid’s hair and drapes himself over Techno’s and Phil’s backs with all of his body weight. “ _I_ think we should have some blueberry pancakes.”

“With hashbrowns,” Techno adds.

“With hashbrowns,” Wilbur agrees.

Tommy whines and clutches at the front of Phil’s kimono, shoving his face into his chest. “Rabbit's foot…”

Phil laughs at them all, of course-- and says:

“We really are a family now, aren’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies-- i’m ten times better at writing fluff than action lol. which is to say, i’m heckin horrible at it. also also i really can’t swear so, apologies again. i tried so hard
> 
> for those of you who want to see my cryptid tubbo w/ dad sparklez oneshot, it is waaaayyyyyyy longer than i thought it would be and im still writing it. i didn’t want to make y’all wait for this chapter but i promise that i will (eventually) finish the tubbo sparkley oneshot. 
> 
> i hope you liked this fic, and thank you all for reading. you’ve been an incredible audience and i hope to see y’all in the comment section


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